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notserp


Member

Posted Sun Nov 30th, 2008 5:17pm Post subject: Aldeburgh
Mr Fry's gig in the Aldeburgh Cinema was sold out before booking began. That's Aldeburgh. That's Mr Fry. I was too slow. Unable to move faster than time. A question I would have posed him: In the head of the Bipolar, is there continuous dialogue? Not in the Dualist sense, but as conscious appears to debate with subconscious. That is normal. Who is it, then, that monitors this dialogue and, as a kind of third voice, observes and remarks? Is inner debate possible without the intrusion upon which the quizzical mind insists? Is analytical thought possible without a vocabulary and without inner debate? Good thing I didn't get into the Cinema!

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cfinlay1


Member

Posted Tue Jan 20th, 2009 1:57am Post subject: Aldeburgh
Although I suspect he may not remember, being remarkably busy, I came to Stephen in a modest bookshop by the perilous shingle of Aldeburgh beach asking to steal a little of his invaluable advice. I was, at the time, approaching my interview at Cambridge University and having met with but a humble amount of books sought the best course of action. He cemented my decision to bullshit my way through the interview… which I, consequently, did, to the best of my ability.

Unfortunately, perhaps baffled by the sheer degree of intelligence that was stuffed into the interview room [none of which being my own…], I failed to bullshit my way through my lack of knowledge. I’m sure my incessant, unintentional, leg stroking didn’t help the case. That, in addition to my apparent illiteracy in the written exam and my inability to recognise the correct significance of the letter ‘t’ in Johnson’s “Hour Glasse”, meant the only outcome was unsuccessful. With that ill fated of things, hindsight, perhaps I was punching a little above my weight; nevertheless hope built a false sense of itself.

I am not entirely sure why I am writing to let you know; perhaps it is a poorly thought out plan to create a rapport with Fry, which will undoubtedly lead to him taking me under his knowledgeable wing and imparting his feathers of wisdom so that, one day, I will conceivably be able ascend, not too close to the sun. In actuality that is exactly why I am writing. Am I joking? If he declines, then yes I am.

I will, now, feasibly be taking a ‘year-out’ next academic year, and as much as I would love to shadow Stephen as he works his way through writing, acting, researching, directing etc, I suspect he will politely tell me he is too busy for such an endeavour. In which case, what should I be doing that may interest me?

Should Stephen actually read this letter of thanks, for that is what this desperate attempt to thieve his advice really is, it would be simply marvellous to hear from him; although I do have a sneaking suspicion that he may get a vast number of such letters….

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